Losing Seven (Falling for Seven Book 2)

by T. A Richards Neville

  “That might be the exact reason you can’t get a guy. Men don’t like to be roughed up by women, didn’t you know that?”

  Hayden grumbled with synthetic laughter. “I’ve never met a guy I haven’t wanted to rough up. Even just one little smack on the head…”

  When Julian came back on to the field my attention was with him, and like five minutes earlier, life didn’t seem so funny anymore. If only I could switch it off. Not care about him or where I stood with him. I resented the way my eyes tracked his every move, ravenous for the next. His long, confident strides across the field, shrouded in native authority. It was a dizzying side effect of being near or around him. He owned whatever he touched—looked at. He didn’t need a reason to call for your attention, but you gave him it anyway.

  I used to think he was a tempestuous asshat, running a fine line of entitlement. Now I was beginning to remember why I ever had that opinion. Julian would eventually get you where he wanted you. He had embedded himself securely on the Dolphins’ roster, taken a seat and made himself comfortable. Taking charge of a team despite being its youngest player.

  Tuning out my own mind, I took more notice of the game. A screen pass from the Dolphins in their first attempt saw the offensive play go for nine yards. Now at second and one, at the nineteen-yard line, Julian dropped into the backfield right off the snap. Never one to play it safe, I could tell just from his stance—his wide step back and the rotation of his hips—that Julian was about to make an unmissable play. Hayden sprung to her feet, pulling me up with her, and the noise level in The Coliseum doubled as Julian lifted off his back foot and exploded forward. The elevation sent the ball deep, and I was just about able to distinguish number seventeen for the Dolphins clear the field and angle up the sideline.

  “Manning Cole,” Hayden screamed in my ear, as number seventeen leapt into the air to complete the pass just short of the seventy-yard line. Fifty-four for the Rams made a dive for the tackle, catching air and turf, as Manning Cole sprinted toward the end zone in a foot race. Gaining speed and yards, a bulky running back cut from winding tattoos and muscle, dove for Manning’s calves, missing by inches and slamming into the field. The only one remaining in the race, Manning blitzed into the end zone for an unbelievable touchdown.

  Sticky soda spilled from Hayden’s cup onto the sleeve of my Dolphins t-shirt as she grabbed my arms to celebrate. “Fifty fucking yards, Angel!”

  “I know!”

  We danced in circles, even though Hayden was in a Rams jersey and the Dolphins weren’t her team.

  “That was something else. It’s a Bummer Julian plays for such a waste team.” Hayden pushed two fingers between her lips and let out a piercing whistle. “Manning Cole’s not long been back from an ankle injury and he makes a run like that? Wow. Just wow. Your boy’s got him looking like he’s actually any good.”

  No one understood more than Julian how important a team was. And Julian would never take all the credit. He threw, Manning caught. Still, it was nice to hear, and even nicer to watch. Julian couldn’t talk himself into looking at me, but his game didn’t suffer. Nothing could touch football, but I knew he was still unhappy with me. A good pass or a win today wouldn’t hoist me back on my perch.

  I wouldn’t find out, though. The game ended with the Rams cinching the lead by three points in the last quarter. It was a disappointing finale from the Dolphins defense after how strong their overall performance had been. The whole team looked pissed off, not just Julian. The bad vibes were strengthening.

  “Are you going to go down there?” Hayden asked me. Even she sounded dubious, her lips flattening in a faint grimace.

  Julian stood on the sideline with an intimate gathering of reporters. He took his hands from his hips to loop a towel around his neck and tousle his damp hair. As a member of the visiting side, the questions would quickly end, and Julian would be back in the locker room in no time. At this point, as intimidating as speaking to him was, I really had nothing to lose.

  I pulled the ID badge from the pocket in my jean shorts and clipped the white strap around my neck. “I’ll see you at this entrance?” I turned to say to Hayden.

  “Sure. Good luck.”

  “I need it,” I muttered, hurrying by the emptying seats and down the steps to field level. Security let me through private access when I showed them my ID card, and I inhaled deep, steadying breaths as I reached the sideline. NFL Personnel and television media littered the area, alongside technical and sporting equipment. I was way out of my depth amongst families of the Rams players, who’d boycotted the stands after the final whistle to congratulate their men.

  I attracted a few lengthy looks from people I didn’t know, and as I approached Julian, my steps slowing, I had no idea what I was going to say. What would Julian say? He could ignore me altogether. Walk right on by like I didn’t exist.

  He shook hands with one of the male reporters. What he was thinking was a mystery to me now. How he would react when he saw me an even bigger mystery.

  Picking up one end of the towel from over his shoulder, he wiped his face, his piercing navy-blue gaze alleviating the pressure in my chest as it drifted my way. He turned and faced me, sliding the towel from his neck and handing it off to an older man dressed in a Dolphins tracksuit.

  Neither of us looked away from the other, and the stand down lasted until Julian spoke. Took three steps toward me and pulled me to him by the plastic ID card resting over my t-shirt. His lids lowered, and his shoulders squared. “I want to kiss you so bad. What do you suggest I do about that?” One eyebrow lifted, daringly, the briefest of smiles noncommittally dancing around his beautiful mouth.

  I hadn’t kissed him in what felt like so long. Too long. Years instead of days. But a separation of simmering air remained between us, and he still hadn’t kissed me. The divide would only widen with time. Become harder to fix. Then soon enough, Impossible.

  How had we found ourselves here? The one area we vowed we’d never return to. Julian could mess with me all he wanted, but I knew he wasn’t going to kiss me. Bruise my lips and mark my flesh, but it wouldn’t be a kiss. The overcast steel in his eyes was a burden I’d put on him. He wouldn’t heal until I’d been hurt. I read his body language like a script I’d memorized my entire life. Julian had made promises he couldn’t keep and told lies he didn’t mean.

  “You looked untouchable out there.” Talking about the game was safe. Just as long as I didn’t mention losing. Julian couldn’t not be happy with how he played today. “You seem to be really settling in with the Dolphins. It’s like you improve with every game.”

  The complexity of Julian’s expression and the barrier guarding his eyes was answer all on its own. We wouldn’t be discussing the game, or any of his passes, or yards collected. That was not safe ground and I wouldn’t be allowed to enter.

  “I get it.” I took an involuntary step back, away from him. “It’s okay for you to mess up but not me. I can forgive, but you can’t.”

  The sun was blistering, but there was only ice surrounding Julian.

  “This isn’t about forgiveness.”

  “Isn’t it? Then tell me what it is about.”

  The steel barrier detonated, Julian’s lips thinning as hard as his eyes. “I wish you hadn’t done it!”

  I glanced from my left to my right, scanning the field for anyone in earshot. “Keep your voice down!” I lowered my own voice and narrowed my eyes, re-reading what I’d been constantly missing. “You wanted me to… keep it? Like, seriously?” We hadn’t discussed the what ifs in detail. Anger and resentment had lodged itself stubbornly in the way.

  Julian’s next breath was deep enough that his chest swelled. The tension rolling off him in silent, destructive waves. “With you, I would have made it work. Now, I don’t know how I’m supposed to act because I can’t figure out how I fucking feel. I don’t know what to do, Angel. Or what the hell to say to you. How to make shit go back to the way it was.”

  All I needed was f
or him to pull me into his arms and let me know he loved me as much now as he did before the abortion. But if I was to ask such a bold question, I suspected I wouldn’t care much for the answer. This was what Julian did; he lashed out.

  “Is this it?” I opened my eyes wider, erasing the roundness that tugged at my eyebrows. Crying or showing the wrong kind of emotion, with the amount of cameras on me with one of the NFL’s most famous quarterbacks, wouldn’t be without repercussions. I had to keep it locked down, even with an open heart and a misplaced key.

  Julian’s hardworking hands framed my waist, two thumbs hooking through the belt loops in my shorts. “Not if I can help it. Live with me…”

  Not again.

  “Because it’s a known fact the basis of all strong relationships is to rush into living together? Julian, we need to talk, not relocate furniture.”

  Hands veined with frustration clenched hard at my hips. “Then how else can I be sure you aren’t going to abort some next guy’s baby behind my back? You’ve proven how easy it is.”

  I was eviscerated with the look Julian cut me. It was a punch to the throat. The hurt he’d been building up to. “That may be the worst thing you could have said to me.”

  There wasn’t an increment of regret on his stone face. No rushing to take his stringent accusation back. Did I really deserve this? To be accused of running all over town with any functioning dick?

  Maybe I did. But I wasn’t willing to stand and listen to it. Take Julian’s shit in front of cameras and other respected football players. Stay stuck here in hell for everyone else’s viewing pleasure. He was hurt, but I was hurting, too. I’d made my decision and I had to live each day searching for a way to accept it.

  Julian could be pissed at me as much as he wanted, but there was fact and there was making shit up. And he was making shit up just to be an asshole. I wasn’t a total doormat. Not anymore. I’d been let down enough times that my skin had thickened without me even noticing. I hadn’t decided if the honor should go to my mom or Jordan. Both had done such thorough work of toughening me up.

  My heart detached from my head, my brain shutting out Julian’s voice as he tried to explain himself with empty words. I couldn’t wait to leave, and he was impatient for me to go.

  I interrupted the lifeless spiel he was on.

  “Let me make this easy for you, Julian.” I unhooked his thumbs from my cutoffs, gaze dropping with his hands as they fell to his sides. Mud, sweat and hard work streaked his uniform, his body probably bruised underneath. “You need to hate me and I’m going to let you do just that. You played flawlessly today, so enjoy and focus on that for now. I’m sorry I did what I did, but you treating me like this…” I put up my hands and twisted my mouth into a hypocritical smile. “I just can’t. I’m so sorry that I went behind your back. I’m sorry I didn’t include you, and I’m sorry this is where I’ve led us.”

  Because I couldn’t walk off this field without anything. And fueling the rumors wasn’t my style, I guided Julian’s head down to mine with one hand on the back of his neck. His sweaty skin and rigid muscle so solid and real against my fingers. His mouth warm, soft reassurance. I closed my eyes underneath his touch and pretended for a minute. Sailed to a different time and place. Julian bent at the knees and plucked me from the ground, my thighs clinging to his waist, head nestling in the shelter between his neck and shoulder.

  “I could use some time.” He kissed my neck, the light brush of his lips seeking out and ripping open my weak spot. That spot Julian held all for himself. Claiming it when I hadn’t even wanted him to have it. “You, football… it’s a lot. Holding you, it’s everything I need. And the shit that’s going through my mind… Angel, it’s fucked up. I don’t trust myself.”

  And now he doesn’t trust me.

  I lifted my head, pushed my hair away and searched for his lips, instantly finding them. I understood, I heard him, and I would give him what he was asking for. Time. Without me. Away from me.

  After locker room interviews, Julian had to get back on a plane and fly to Miami. He was gone, and I was left behind unsure. It wasn’t the nicest feeling, stewing over my position in his life, or if I still had one. And it probably wasn’t my smartest idea, to let Hayden coax me into going out with her after the game.

  We showered and changed at my house, and I squeezed into a red satin dress and curled my hair. Hayden borrowed a pair of my ripped jeans and a sequin halter that I’d bought earlier in the year and never worn. The front drooped too low and it just wasn’t me. It looked pretty, but it had hung untouched in my wardrobe since coming out of its bag.

  We ordered an Uber to take us to one of Los Angeles’ newest clubs. Jammed in I-10 traffic, I was losing the will to live. For every mile crawled, an extra two minutes hiked onto the arrival time. Not even the car pool lane could save us. My malevolent thoughts churned quicker than our ride’s tires.

  Pulling up outside the club, I wanted to turn around and go home. And from looking at the modern, fancy exterior, with the waxy, exotic flowers and plants feathering the entrance, I couldn’t afford to be wasting a night here. LA was expensive, and I was guessing that one drink in this place would mark the price equivalent of a three-course meal.

  Inside, Hayden slid down from her leather and chrome stool, clutching her purse from the mirrored table. “Are you coming to the bathroom?”

  I shook my head. “I’m good.”

  “I’ll get the drinks on my way back. You hitting the vodka tonight?”

  “Why not?” I’d brought my credit card. I was happy to get lost in a fantasy land and didn’t care how I got there.

  I opened the message feed with Marilyn on my phone, not noticing right away the male figure approach our table and ease into Hayden’s empty stool without pause or introduction.

  When I saw his face, I knew why.

  “You look different when you aren’t on the cover of a magazine.”

  I crossed my arms over the table and flattened out a smile. “Beau. This is getting too often, you know. Someone might start to notice.”

  “Someone like Julian Lawson? Why didn’t you say so?” Beau’s easy grin was teasing.

  I took my hands from the table when he leaned in.

  “I don’t like to brag. Are you saying you would have backed off if I’d brought his name into it?”

  “Well…” One eyebrow tipped up and his gaze lowered, his grin stuck in place. “I’d have still untied your laces. But, damn, you kept that one quiet. I feel like now I really should give up. So, what’s your story, eh? High school sweethearts?”

  “I’m from right here in LA, and Julian grew up in Boston. We met in college.”

  “Which college?”

  “Boston.”

  Beau’s attention drifted to a group of men standing talking at the bar. One of the men turned to Beau and pointed to the back of the club. Beau nodded, refocusing on me. “You’d best not tell me too much.”

  I watched as the men headed upstairs, empty-handed and with one of the young waitresses as their personal guide. I recognized a couple faces from the LA Kings roster. I saw them regularly, plastered across advertisement boards over busy interstates.

  Distracted, I asked Beau, “Why shouldn’t I tell you too much?” I’d picked a bad place to come tonight. Was Los Angeles shrinking and I hadn’t been notified?

  “I might want to know more, and that could be dangerous.” Beau smoothed a hand over the fitted white shirt covering his chest. “What would Julian think if I bought you a drink?”

  “I think…” Why the hell was I answering this? “Um.” Uncomfortable wasn’t the word for how I felt. “Can we not talk about him?”

  Beau was taken aback for all of three seconds or less. A broad smile stretched his mouth. “Gladly. Let’s not mention his name ever again.”

  “And I’m here with someone already,” I announced as Hayden returned from the restroom. “So, no drink. But thank you for offering.”

  Hayden slid one han
d along the back of Beau’s stool, standing beside him with a freshly-glossed smile. “Well, hi.”

  Even sitting, he made the same height as her. He was just so damn big.

  “Hello.” Amused hazel eyes dipped to Hayden’s naturally full cleavage. I didn’t blame Beau, Hayden was all out there tonight. She looked hot. “Nice top.”

  “Thanks. It’s Angel’s.” Beau’s gaze swung my way. Hayden tapped his arm with her purse. “You’re in my seat.”

  Ever the gentleman, Beau apologized and stood to let Hayden sit. “The guys are upstairs. If you two change your mind and want to join us, I’d love your company.”

  Hayden studied her fingernails, looking bored. “We’ll see.”

  “No, we won’t,” I corrected her with a smile, to lessen my hostility. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. But it’s always lovely to see you. Everywhere I go.”

  “I’ll be down here later. To check on you.” The threat carried a smile, and my lips remained closed as Beau backed away, his gaze returning to our table before his hand hit the stair railing and he jogged up to the second-level.

  Hayden’s body twisted to look over her shoulder. “It’s VIP up there.”

  I got to my feet. “All the more reason to stay down here. I’ll get the drinks, should I?”

  Craning her neck to see over the upstairs balcony, Hayden gave me half of her attention. “Long Island Iced Tea for me.”

  I came back with our drinks and placed Hayden’s in front of her.

  “I didn’t tell you this before but, I’ve been texting Jason since that day in O’Connor’s.”

  I sipped my martini and repositioned the square napkin under my glass. “Jason who?”

  “Jason Dillon. Defenseman for the Kings. This is his first pro season in the league.”

  “Oh, him. He was cute.”

  “And how about this? He fixed me up with two tickets for the game on Thursday. They play San Jose at the Staples Center—”

  “No.”

  Hayden frowned and picked up her drink. “No, what?”